


Storybook Lovers Are Overrated

by WyvernQuill



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (and to the radar technician skit), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Antagonistic Romance, Archmage Hux, Crack, F/F, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Humor, Hux is Not Nice, Illustrated, Ironical Capitalisation, M/M, Multi, Neither is Kylo really, Prince Kylo Ren, gratuitous references to canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-07-14 12:16:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16040294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WyvernQuill/pseuds/WyvernQuill
Summary: If Kylo Ren had been a proper Hero Prince, he would've bravely vanquished the Evil Archmage of the Fyrst Order of Magicke, found the fair maiden or gallant lord that was to be his Fated Other, grown to be a Just and Wise and Good ruler, and lived Happily Ever After like his mother before him.He would NOT have snuck out of Coruscastle disguised as Matt the Lowly Peasant, NOT run straight into said Archmage, and MOST CERTAINLY NOT let the man end Kylo's lifelong dry spell ('virginity' was such an ugly word) in the upstairs bedroom of Maz's alehouse.Kylo - decidedly NOT a Hero Prince - didn't think he missed out.In which our beloved antihero is viciously insulted by a vile monster of an Archmage and kinda likes it, has some real talk with some real folks, babysits an infant ewok, has far too many ghostly visitations, and learns that love isn't like in the stories - at all.





	1. In Which The World Is Unfair

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was at a minor Star Wars convention with my Nuggetkins this weekend, and thought I could celebrate that thoroughly enjoyable experience by posting the very first chapter of my very first Star Wars fanfic - which is incidentally also my very first chaptered work - and hope it does its very best to brighten up your day, esteemed reader!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and in which names are changed to something _dark and brooding_ in a _dark and brooding_ manner.

Once upon a time long ago in a realm far far away, there was a beautiful princess captured by the forces of evil and imprisoned in a castle called the Deathburg.

Now, I _could_ be telling her legend, a tale of daring rescues and resistance against all Evil, involving a farmboy turned prince and a roguish tradesman who turned both their heads.

But they had their Happily Ever After achieved already, you know.

The Sithlock Emperor had been long vanquished, the royal twins reunited with each other as well as their love, and peace has been established among the realms.

 _This_ story, therefore, isn't quite as heroic, or legendary, or fairy-tale-worthy. If I'm quite honest, it's rather morally dubious in parts, and while we do have a bit of love in it,it's neither fated nor quite star-crossed, at least not for our cherished protagonists.

(I refrain from saying heroes since, truth be told, there's not much _heroic_ about them.)

But even if it's not _particularly_ fairy, it's still a tale, and those must needs be told, it's in their etymology. So we'll simply proceed, bear with me if you will, and pretend this story speaks of better men and fairer hearts than it does.

 

 

 

This beautiful princess - Queen, now - I spoke of had a son, you see. It's the manner of Happily Ever Aftering, wedding and bedding and procreating.

And if this was one of the proper legends, Prince Ben Organa-Solo would be as fair to the eye as his mother, as caring and adept at White Magic as his uncle, as selfless and adventurous as his father. He would do Good upon the kingdom and be a credit to his people. A Hero Prince, as his mother was a Hero Princess.

Ben... wasn't quite like that.

Too tall, too broad in the shoulders and too gangly in the limbs, with coalblack hair that tumbled down his head like a rockfall and features that were unpleasant separately and just plain unfortunate taken together, especially when arranged in the brooding glower he frequently adopted.

He put one in mind of a rather disgruntled vulture - it was the nose, most of the kingdom's subjects agreed, though some would argue the hunched shoulders factored into it heavily - and Hero Princes were really more of the prancing stag or proud lion variety. There might be an eagle or two, but ravens and crows and vultures all firmly belonged in the more villainous range.

Ben... he wasn't... evil as in, well, _Evil_ , but, ah...

He wasn't quite _Good_ , either.

Maybe because people didn't _think_ he was Good, he was never properly motivated to put the work in. Maybe being Good in the shadow of his parents was quite the challenge.

And maybe, Ben was just not made to be Good.

He certainly never much felt like Being Good was worth the trouble, and didn't find Being Morally Dubious all that unpleasant.

That was alright, really. The Queen, her brother and King Consort Han were more than Good enough for the kingdom, and still in the most splendid of healths, so there was no need for Nearly-Evil Ben to become a Hero Prince quite soon.

Leia was frightfully busy being Queen, Han was busy smugg- _trading_ in the outer realms, and Luke, Court Wizard and Walker of the Seven Skies, had an approach to the heroing business that was best summed up with "they'll get there eventually", and was suitably laissez-faire about the entire thing.

Ben had tried a little bit of rebelling around his teenage years, and just sort of... _continued_ when it failed to provoke a reaction other than "that's nice, Ben darling", and thus he avoided being particularly princely whenever he could.

 

The day our tale begins, Ben was partaking in his favourite pastime; stalking around the castle's corridors in his blackest, most ragged cloak and snapping at everyone who approached him.

"Oh, a blessed good morning, Master Ben!", Sir Tripio, the royal translator, greeted.

"Go die in a ditch." Ben snarled back, ruffling his coat dramatically and stalking past them.

"Brat." The roundly man waddling after Tripio muttered.

"Arthoor! His Lordship is merely having one of his grumpydays."

"Grumpydecade, more like."

"Well, he's a Prince, he's certainly got the right, I suppose. If I do happen to decease, Master Ben, I shall endeavour to do so at the side of the road as you suggested. Have a pleasant stalk!"

"I hate you and shall destroy you first of all!" Ben screeched after them, but they had already rounded the corner.

Well. That was certainly more of a reaction than he got most days. Thank Magical Force for Arthoor's uncouth mouth and short temper (as well as his protective streak in regards to the translator, of course), that way Ben got at least the occasional light snap to stoke the embers of his eternally-burning hellfire of anger.

Ben seethed with righteous indignation (and a bit of smug self-satisfaction) and geared up for his third circuit around the courtyard, when he ran into Rey.

_Rey._

Rey was Luke's adopted daughter and price student, and quite frankly everything Ben wasn't. Very much the fierce lioness a Hero Princess should be, beautiful even though she couldn't care less about it, and already some Heroic deeds under her belt, even at so young an age. _Everybody_ loved her, and she loved everybody back.

Except Ben. Ben hated her.

But... a _little_ less than he hated everyone else, maybe.

 

"Hey Benny!" Her face dimpled a little when she smiled. Ben's didn't. He didn't smile. "Wanna spar?"

"NO!" Ben snapped viciously. "And don't call me _Benny_ , pitiful wretch!"

"Benjamin?" She was outright grinning now. No, he took it back, he hated her more than anyone else in the whole wide world, _including_ Mother and Father. And Uncle Luke.

"I am changing my name." Ben grumbled, shuffling over a few steps so he was swathed in the dark blanket of shadows rather than the morning sunlight. "To something dark, and sinister. Yes!" His expression brightened a little, but in a _dark and brooding_ way. "Rey, from this day on, you shall call me 'Kylonius Renegade'. Oh yes, that _is_ much better."

Rey raised one eyebrow. She had very intimidating eyebrows, just like Mother. Some Dark Sorcerers would kill for brows like that. "Nope."

"...'Kylo Renegade'?"

"Dream on."

"'Kylo Ren'." He swallowed his pride with a little pained gulp. "Please, cousin?"

He watched from the corner of his eye as Rey's sharp expression softened. Good people were so _easy._

"Yeah okay, Be- Kylo. Ren?"

"Whatever." Kylo Ren - he already felt much better, that is to say, _worse_ , with the new name - murmured darkly. "I'm going to train my fighting prowess. ALONE!" He quickly amended when he saw Rey hopefully perking up. "Spread the word regarding my new name, will you?"

"Sure!" Rey skipped off, doing a stupid little pole-vault up the stairs with her dumb battle staff that had passersby clapping.

They never clapped when _Kylo_ did acrobatics! Sure, he took care to only practise in sombre solitude, _but still._ The world was unfair.

 

He had sulke- slashed training dummies to piec- _trained_ for only half an hour when the day got even worse than it already was.

 _Mother_ summoned him.

Queen Leia had aged the way beautiful legendary figures aged, with a dignified honour that gently etched years of respectability into the soft lines of her face. If she and Han - who only grew _more_ dashing with the years, damn the man - weren't so... Happily Ever After with Luke in the bargain, half the kingdom would be courting her even now.

She was clothed in only a simple dress - Leia disliked wearing gaudy garb when her poorest subjects had to make do with rags - but looked unfairly _radiant_ in it, perched _just so_ on her throne, comfortably enough to seem assured in her position, but demure enough to have it known that she would never grow complacent with her role. Legends, you know.

Uncle Luke, by her side always, wore Jedian robes to signify his usage of that dratted _White_ Magic, and looked every bit as kind as benign as he _actually was_ , which is to say, impossibly so.

Kylo had seen him weep over the death of an ant once. No joke. Wore a mourning band and everything. And he hadn't even been the one to step on the wretched thing!

And Kylo _did_ look where he was going, he'd _meant_ to kill it. So there.

 

"Rey, my sweet." Mother was beaming down at them in that radiantly regal way of hers that regularly made Kylo want to go up to her and ask for a hug, until he recalled he hated her. "And Benny darling! So glad you could come!"

"MOTHER!" He hissed, outraged. "Didn't Rey tell you!? I," he drew himself up to full gangly height, somehow still managing to hunch his shoulders (he'd trained in front of the mirror) "now go by the name of Kyloni-" 

Rey cleared her throat in a singularly menacing way.

"...Kylo Ren." He amended, absolutely because it was his wish and not due to intimidation at all.

"Oh dear." Mother looked at him in the sort of quietly-sad-and-disappointed way that made him want to actually try and... - the mere thought made him shudder - _be a good son._ "But we've all gotten so _used_ to it now. Where would we be if anyone could change their name willy-nilly? Oh no mister, you'll damn well stick with Ben!"

 

At least she wasn't combining the verbal admonishment with a lesson about dutiful princely things, like after she'd gotten Luke to hover a tantruming fourteen-year-old Kylo down from the highest tower, pulled his ear and informed him sternly that if he'd gotten it into his fool head to die melodramatically, he might as well do it slowly of boredom, and given him a temporary apprenticeship with Tripio.

(That apprenticeship had been the _worst_ time of Kylo's life. He'd had to... _file_ things. And be _courteous_ to people. And not threaten anybody's life even once!

The whole affair had ended with Sir Tripio's unavoidable Kylo-based nervous breakdown, and Arthoor kicking little Ben out with the most colourful threats should he ever darken their doorstep again, _Prince or not._

While Tripio of course remained infallibly polite towards the Young Master, the little finger of his left hand _did_ regularly develop an intermittent tremor in Kylo's presence, while the prince himself felt a piercing pain behind his right eyesocket at the mention of paperwork or finer linguistic details.)

Really, simply a "bummer for you, suck it up" was much preferable in the grand scheme of things.

 

"Now, Leia, let's not be too harsh with the boy." Uncle Luke serenely patted her hand, as ever at peace with himself, the situation, the universe at large, yadda yadda _whatever_ , sparing Kylo a warm avuncular smile.

"His namesake, honoured Obi-Wan Kenobi, did too change his name, to the Ben we knew him under, thus the fact that _our_ Ben wishes to relabel himself now only restores Balance to the Magical Force."

"I'm not doing it for _pfasking Balance!_ " Kylo spat out, but was ignored.

"Besides," Uncle Luke added with a little mischievous glimmer in his eye, "you mustn't forget Leia, the boy is _Han's._ If the seed is already fiery and headstrong, then we can't clip the young tree's branches. We don't attempt to chain Han either, do we?"

Mother nodded wistfully at that, and they shared the kind of soppy, lovelorn look the royal twins often exhibited when conversations turned to Father in the man's absence.

Kylo gagged, and was again ignored by everyone but Rey, who grimaced sympathetically and patted him on the upper arm, the closest to his shoulder she could reach. She truly was his least distasteful relation.

Mother came back from thoughts of the King Consort first, and daintily righted her crown - a nervous habit Kylo just knew he would find a way to expose and ridicule dramatically one day - before lowering her gaze down to her son and niece.

"Very well then. Kylo Ren it is, at least as a sort of nom de plume. Nom de sabre, perhaps?"

Uncle Luke shrugged noncommittally, and that was that.

"We'll start again." Mother smoothed down her dress. A new nervous habit?

"Rey, my sweet, and Renny darling, so glad you could come!"

Kylo briefly thought about bristling, but the sooner he could remove himself from Mother's presence, the better, and bristling would only delay things. It _never_ achieved anything except that effect.

The world was _so_ unfair. Especially where Mothers were concerned.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's more to come! I've already gotten a lot of it written out, so updates will be rather regular, and there WILL be art - let's hope I figure out how to embed images in the text.  
> If all else fails, I've got a good grasp on links at least.  
> Do leave a comment, there's no greater joy for a new Archive member than connecting with others and learn what was done well and what should be improved.
> 
> I remain, as ever at your service,  
> ~WQ


	2. In Which A Task Is Given

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and in which Finn and Poe are That Couple.  
>  (You know the one.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! I figured pictures out!

"Now. The reason I've asked you here," Mother continued lightly, "is that we will be entertaining _guests_ shortly."

"Oh, goodie!" Rey clapped her hands together. For some unfathomable reason, she actually _liked_ meeting new people. 

"Who? Kashyykian nobility? Traders from the Tatooine or Jakku desert? Uh, uh, I know, a strange and fey Magical non-humanoid people is sending envoys!"

Mother laughed, delighting in her niece's cloyingly sweet enthusiasm. "Oh, nothing so fanciful, my darling. A rather serious business matter, really."

Uncle Luke nodded sagely. "We will instead be playing hosts to the ruling caste of the Fyrst Order of Magycke."

 

One might've heard a pin drop in the ensuing silence, if Rey's battlestaff hadn't slipped from her fingers to clatter loudly on the throne room's marble floor.

"The _Fyrst Order!?_ Auntie!!!" Rey exploded. "They're _Evil!_  They practise the vilest forms of wizardry and twist the Magical Force into Darkness! I remember my histories, they once slaughtered the _entire realm_ of Hos to hone their blood spells! Why would we _ever_ let them cross our borders!?"

Kylo, if asked for his personal opinion, would admit they sounded like a very intriguing organisation to him, but nobody _ever_ asked for Kylo's opinion, so he remained broodingly quiet.

Besides, he was strictly forbidden from running off to join a Dark Cult - like Grandfather had - and if you were the son of Queen Leia Organa, who had the most powerful White Magic user of all realms as her brother, being _forbidden_ likely meant you were physically incapable from performing that action, so Kylo had restricted such ideas to purely hypothetical natures.

"Oh, hush." Mother waved her hand _once_ , and Rey instantly quieted. Respect for her elders, another one of those Heroic traits Kylo had never gotten around to.

"Of _course_ the Fyrst Order is comprised of the most despicable excuses for human beings the Magical Force has seen it fit to populate this earth with, we're _well_ aware of that!"

"Only," Uncle Luke seamlessly picked up her argumentation, "as long as they are simply left to roam free along the Outer Realms of Rim, we are not in a position to _do_ anything about them. On the other hand, if they _were_ to, let's say, come to Coruscastle on a diplomatic visit and happened to breach the sacrosanctity of guest law..."

"They _will_ hatch an Evil plan." Mother interjected. "It's in their nature, too good of an opportunity. Which is, my darling children, where _you_ come in. You'll be protecting the innocent and doling out justice to the deserving, so just the usual Heroing business, and ideally destabilising the entire Fyrst Order in the process. Yes, Renny?"

"What if," Kylo grumbled, insulted to be called upon like a schoolchild, "they're not _stupid_ enough to try some Evilness under the eyes of you, me, Rey, Uncle Luke, and our entire guard?"

Mother shrugged, near as nonchalantly as her brother. "Then we have the opportunity to see what they want and attempt to _actually_ solve the issue over diplomatic channels. It's Plan B."

"Should you, however, just so happen to detect an Evil scheme of _any_ kind," Uncle Luke stressed, "concentrate the force of your righteous wrath on the Supreme Master of the Order, currently a creature called Snoke. The Master is Evil Incarnate, he _must_ be vanquished."

"And, don't forget," Mother chimed back in, "his Archmage, too. That will be a being made up entirely of greed and cruelty, groomed for succession by the Supreme Master for all their life. Their soul will be so twisted by Black Magic and the Dark that it has warped beyond all humanity, and you'll be doing them a kindness to end their wretched existence before they loose themselves fully and become Supreme Master in their own right."

Strictly personally once more, Kylo had his doubts. He himself had, after all, also been groomed for succession all his life, poured into the form of a perfect little Hero Prince, and just look how _that_ had turned out.

 

Rey nodded grimly, with fierce determination and at the same time tender compassion filling her eyes. "I vow not to rest until their immortal soul may also rest easily in the Magical Force.", she promised.

Sometimes she was so _Good_ and _Heroic_ it physically hurt.

"Whatever", Kylo snorted, rolling his eyes. If these Fyrst Orders got in his way or something, he _might_ take them on, just to improve his fighting skills, but he certainly wouldn't get _emotionally invested_ , or feel _responsibility_ of any kind. That was for Heroes.

And Kylo Ren was no Hero.

"Good." Mother smiled at them both, though it was a little more exasperated when sent Kylo's way. "They'll arrive by the turn of the moon, hold yourself in readiness for it. Now go and tend to your usual duties, yes dearies?"

Kylo whirled around and stalked off, but Rey was called back by Uncle Luke for "a word regarding your studies, Rey honey", so instead of retreating to his Dark Lair (his bedroom) or slinking back to the training courtyard, he pressed himself into the shadows of a suitable alcove.

Kylo liked to eavesdrop. It provided him with vital information for his sinister plans.

Also, it made sure he stayed up to date with castle gossip, because it wasn't as if anyone told him these things face to face.

 

He called upon the forces of the Dark to cast his hearing far from him into the fathomless Abyss, and listen in to his Uncle's and cousin's conversation.

"Rey, sweetheart." Kylo could hear the former's voice. "Regarding this little task, you know that the safety of innocents is forever paramount..."

"Of course, Da."

"However, if you, ah, how to say this... Rey, your Heroic spirit has often had occasion to prove itself, while your cousin hasn't exactly had... the same opportunities. So, if there are no innocent lives at stake, and the success of the Quest is not _imminently_ threatened if you simply... hold off on the killing blow and, you know, let Renny have a shot..."

"Oh... _oh!_ Yes, Da. I understand."

Kylo's hearing snapped back into his head, stomach roiling with anger, and not the pleasant hot curl of fury, but the queasy simmering of shame.

He... they... and she... why would they think he even _wanted_.......

Kylo stomped back to the training yard as quickly as he could, entirely eviscerating one of the straw dummies and not crying whatsoever.

The hot water on his cheeks was only sweat from exertion, and anyone who said otherwise was gonna get some of what that dummy did.

 

 

 

"Back _straight_ , boy! Firm up your stance!"

Kylo didn't startle. His superior senses drew 360° vision from the Dark Aura surrounding him. He'd _meant_ to do a sort of flinch-y movement at the end of that slash, most certainly.

"Phasma." He growled darkly. 

 _"Captain."_   She corrected sternly, stabbing him at the base of the spine with a blunt training sword. "In any other room of this castle you may be Prince, but in this courtyard you are _my_ disciple, and I won't stand for insubordination! Now straighten your back or I'll do it for you!"

Kylo growled even darklier, but complied. Guard Captain Phasma was a fearsome woman, the only one in all the castle to tower over _him_ , and her commanding presence was a thing he greatly aspired to.

She didn't only have authority within the training yard, really. One glimpse of her brightly-polished armour, and people threw themselves in the dirt before her, whimpering and begging for their lives. Castle legend had it that she'd killed a man who'd laughed at her stature, and never faced consequences because even the Queen's brother was too afraid to inform her of either exile or impending execution, so they simply... let her be.

Kylo certainly wouldn't want to get on Phasma's bad side, and he _lived_ to alienate people. She was _terrifying._

"Better, _Captain?_ " He still couldn't keep himself from adding a mocking undertone. Phasma's blue-durairon eyes narrowed visibly behind the visor of her helmet.

"Very much so." She answered with all the sweetness of congealing bactafruit mash - brilliant for medical poultices, but singularly bitter-sharp in taste - and then struck the killing blow. "Good enough for man-to-man combat."

 

Oh, Kylo hated her. Beating a dummy into submission was a pleasant enough pastime, but dueling another person... he always had to _hold back_ , forbidden from as much as giving them a _scratch._

And it _had_ only been a scratch, the assistant captain was a big crybaby who hadn't really needed that limb anyway.

To make things worst - as they always went for Kylo - the soldier she commandeered over as his opponent was _Finn._

"Ready, my Lord?" Everyone's favourite footsoldier asked chirpily, detestably approachable with all his easy grins and warm eyes.

Kylo glowered darkly. No, he was not ready, he wanted to tear something to pieces, not play-fight with slightly-sharpened sticks against the regiment's darling.

The alternative, he then discovered, was worse.

You see, there was a reason Kylo had a dislike even stronger than the usual for the man, and it was directly connected to the fact that his full name was _Finn pfasking Dameron,_ (the swear being inherently tied to the last name, of course) and Poe and Finn were... well, _That_  Couple. You know the one.

"Honeybun!" Someone behind them cried out.

 _No._ Kylo begged the Dark and his Grandfather's departed spirit silently. _Please, no, no, no. I take it back, I'll duel him, just please don't..._

"Cutie-pie!" Finn whirled around, and ran straight into the arms of Poe even-more-pfasking Dameron.

Kylo quietly mourned the fact that Finn had not managed to stab his husband with the training sword. Now _that_ would've made this situation bearable.

Poe and Finn exchanged a rather-more-than-tender kiss just this side of grossly indecent, and Kylo had to sit down before he threw up on someone.

The two regularly inspired this feeling in him, they were frankly _disgustingly_ in love, the kind that gave sugar cubes diabetes.

 

It had all started with a reconnaissance mission of some sorts involving a map and apparently demanding to be assigned to the best dragonrider at court and ending in his subsequent incarceration.

Kylo hadn't been surprised. Poe Dameron was a self-centered bag of air who bragged better than he fought, but he was oh so Good and oh so Heroic, meaning _of course_ everybody loved him.

Especially minor-position dungeon-guarding minions like Finn.

By the time the two made it back to the castle on Poe's X-Wyvern, they were finishing each others' sentences and talking about how many kids they were going to adopt.

Mother had smiled kindly, Uncle Luke had offered to officiate the wedding, Father had spouted something saccharinely sentimental about rescues and loves at first sights that had the both of them giggle in frighteningly identical fashion, and if that had been that, Kylo would find himself sick to his stomach on a much less regular basis.

But since those fated to fall _stupidly_ in love didn't ever seem to stop, not even after Happily Ever After was achieved, and theirs was still relatively fresh, they lovey-dovey'd around the castle with astonishing persistence, being That Couple and exuding an aura of sticky-romantic sweetness that clogged up Kylo's sinuses and made him want to sigh like a lovestruck maiden. And he most certainly wasn't in love with anyone, he'd never even... well, Kylo was a man of the world and all, but he had yet to... not that he _wanted_ it, obviously, if he did he'd find someone willing in a heartbeat, _obviously_ , but...

Well.

Let's just say their presence also made him feel his (lifelong) dry spell all the more keenly.

"Oh, I missed you, snookiewookums..." Finn sighed, burying his face into Dameron's (the original one, not by marriage) accursedly perfect hair. Kylo's _never_ looked quite that dashing.

"And I you, cuddlebug. I'll never leave you again!"

Kylo snorted at Poe's answer. He knew for a fact that the last they'd seen each other was breakfast at the most. Honestly, if this was love, he wanted no part in it _ever._

(The esteemed reader might feel a trickle of foreshadowing running down their back at this statement.)

Poe's fat little pet dragon Beebee Eight - honestly, three more units circumference and they'd be able to roll the thing - crawled past, and Kylo vindictively reached out to pull its tail, but somehow found himself petting its head instead. In retrospect it was maybe for the best, he desperately needed something to occupy himself with that wasn't sickeningly in love.

Basil Burnflame VIII, which was the creature's full name, pedigree dragon that it was, would do... not _nicely_ , it wasn't something Kylo was allowed to decapitate, regrettably, but adequately at least.

 

"And, flufflebunny," Finn asked, curled comfortably into Poe's side - Kylo simply couldn't stop himself from eavesdropping, though he wished he might now - "what are those Fyrst Order visitors like?"

Kylo tensed slightly, interest stirred. They'd arrived today? He hadn't bothered to keep track, since Mother had forbidden him from wearing the kind of official robes he wanted when receiving them ("Naboo fashion is _outdated_ Renny, and much too fanciful, choose something... no, NOT black, what will the people think, that we've brought up a Sithlock Priest!?") and he'd vowed to boycott the entire thing.

Entirely unrelated to the humiliation of Uncle Luke and Rey conspiring to _hand him a freebie_ , of course.

Poe sighed dramatically, clearly gearing up for a longer tale of unnecessary flamboyance. Kylo let Beebee crawl into his lap, scratching it under the snout and rolling his eyes already for good measure, he felt it might be necessary to compensate for when that puffed-up dragonwrangler really got going. 

"Oh, horrid, _horrid_ people, hubbiewubbie. Evil, all of them, and led by... I dare not call him 'man', he's more creature really, wrinkled and grey-skinned, with one cheek caved in as if he was already decomposing. Looks like a corpse, that Supreme Master Snoke! And _slimy_ , you should've heard the way he spoke to the Queen, all dead-eyed smiles and Dark thoughts lurking underneath. The sooner he leaves, the better, I say!"

Kylo was unimpressed. If the man wasn't dripping with the blood of infants, then he wasn't terribly remarkable.

"Oh, horrible!" Finn would've swooned into Poe's arms if he wasn't already in them. "You must've been so very brave, standing tall in that monster's presence..."

 _Don't encourage him, fathead._ Kylo thought in Finn's direction as loudly as he could, but the dolt wasn't Magic-sensitive and therefore deaf to it.

"But, but," Dameron continued, clearly feeling validated and quickly getting into the spirit of things, "that's _nothing_ against what his Archmage - some Evil version of a padawan, I suppose - is like!"

Phasma was shooting disapproving glares in their direction - really only _Kylo's_ direction, nobody would reprimand the young lovers, not even Phasma - but Kylo simply rubbed Bee's belly and continued eavesdropping, idly trying to recall if he'd ever heard them address each other with something that _wasn't_ some ridiculous endearment.

"Hux, he's called, and the name doesn't do him justice. A crackling head of flame for hair, a grimace eternally twisted beyond anything human from hatred, and two cold shards of ice for eyes, basically lidless. Pointy teeth, _fangs_ really, reaching down past his chin, gnarled fingers tipped with nails sharp and curved as claws, and then..."

"Then?" Finn asked breathlessly.

"Then," Poe continued, leaning in close and conspiratorial, Kylo subconsciously edging closer as well, "there's his _beast._ A tigress, tall as a dragon very nearly, with fiery fur, like his flaming hair. They say he shares his mind with her, that she's an extension of his very being, and that they dine on bloody meat from the same carcass each night. And both of them were clasped in heavy cast-iron shackles they were continuously straining against during the entire ceremony, since even his Master wasn't quite sure if they could control themselves in company!"

Oooookay. Kylo was about... _ninety_ percent sure Poe had begun exaggerating at some point or other, but Finn was eating it up with stars in his eyes.

"And yet, all I could think of when I saw that demonic abomination of an Archmage," Poe wrapped the tale up, turning Finn's head so they gazed deeply into each others' eyes, "was that I would strike him down in a heartbeat if anything he did ever threatened _you,_ porgiepuff."

Kylo gagged quietly.

"You always protect me." Finn breathed adoringly.

"And you always have my back." Poe breathed in return.

Kylo gagged _loudly._ Made no difference.

 

Since the conversation now devolved into an argument along the lines of "I love you more oh no _I_ love _you_ more", Kylo brooded over his next steps. It wasn't easy at all, to think sinister thoughts in such close proximity to the lovebirds (and possibly Bee's adorable snuffling factored into it as well), they rather inspired musings upon fluffy, colourful things that one might retch upon if things got any sweeter.

Phasma had walked over to remind Finn that he had training to complete, but upon witnessing the sappiness exuding from them and part of the pointless romantic diatribe, she made a snorting sound that caused Kylo to seriously doubt she was keeping a straight face under that helmet, and turned back on her heels.

He only barely kept himself from begging her to take him along.

Returning to his not-quite-Evil-but-also-not-good plans, Kylo first acknowledged that he had no desire whatsoever to do anything at all in regards to the Fyrst Order - let Rey handle it, why would he impose, they clearly didn't truly _want_ him, _they never had!_ \- but he just knew Mother would rope him into all sorts of pseudo-diplomatic meetings to give him ample opportunity to do so nonetheless.

Maybe... a tactical retreat was in order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who thinks Poe overhyped Hux a tiny bit? Raise your hands... and then lower them to the keyboard again and leave a comment!
> 
> The drawing's mine, in case it doesn't show up properly, it depicts knight-in-training!Finn, dragonrider!Poe, and dragon!BB-8.


	3. In Which Cover Is Gone Under

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and in which we finally put the 'Hux' in 'Kylux'.

Kylo had a thing he did, whenever Uncle Luke got it into his head that his nephew needed to meditate by doing a one-armed handstand for three weeks straight _while_ magically levitating some rocks, or Mother decided he ought to have a politely amicable conversation with someone - both equally impossible if you asked Kylo - and that thing was running off to visit Father.

Not that Kylo liked the old man. _At all._ But sometimes he simply presented the lesser evil, and since Mother and Uncle constantly felt the urge to leave the castle behind and track Han down along whatever trade route he was currently frequenting, they were startlingly lenient when Kylo expressed a similar sentiment.

A note reading 'gone to see Dad' sufficed, and he could traipse the Middle Realms of Rim for weeks, they put it down to father-son bonding time and had likely forgotten about the bothersome task when Father dumped him back on them the next time he passed the castle.

Certainly, spending time with Father meant evenings full of pseudo-caring semi-drunk ramblings and Kylo smelling of Uncle Chewie's traditional Kashyykian fur coat for the next year or so, but he didn't want the pain of seeing that Archmage monster and longingly thinking _that might've been me, if only I had been allowed to follow in Grandfather's footsteps._

Running off it was.

Father should be sailing down from Correllia with the quarter moon's evening tide, anchoring the Thousand-Year-Falcon in the first mainland harbour with a quality tavern and guildsmen willing to look the other way regarding a few crates of cargo, Kylo could easily meet him there.

And once he returned, the Fyrst Order would be a thing of the past and Rey another Heroic deed richer. As an additional bonus, he'd have to see much less of the people he despised - everyone he knew, that is - except Father, who was, if not the _least_ evil, then at least only a singular one.

 

Kylo went to his room to pack, but found that he hated most of his possessions, basically everything except for the cracked hilt that had once served as his Grandfather's conductor to a Magic-Sword spell, which could easily be clipped to a belt.

Traveling light it was.

He went to cloak himself in liquid shadows (his favourite black coat) but found that Mother, _that snake_ , had removed every black item of clothing from his closet as a precaution in case he decided to be especially willful and crash the welcoming ceremony without adhering to the Mother-imposed dress code.

Grandmother Amidala's Nabooine robes were likely back in the storage room he'd found them in, only now it would be locked.

Kylo huffed. That would _ruin_ the fabric in another decade or so. Mother was _such_ a philistine.

...and currently in possession of nearly all his clothes.

Kylo's wardrobe _was_ rather monochromatically black.

In fact, the only thing she'd left was a ludicrous Jedian-style outfit in dusty greenish-grey that, considering the size, must be a hand-me-down from Uncle Luke.

_Unacceptable._

 Kylo furiously dug through the very back of his underwear drawer - he knew for a fact that Mother hadn't taken anything out of it, because...

Well. She'd been at it _once_ and unearthed, uh...

 _The less thought about that and how he'd screamed at her, red-faced and under tears, to NOT TOUCH HIS STUFF EVER AGAIN the better,_ point being, there was still hope there.

And just for the record, Kylo'd never actually _done_ anything with the helmet. Just talked. 

Entirely unrelated, his kissing prowess was absolutely natural, he'd never needed to practise at all.

 

Kylo ultimately came up with brown pants that had been comfortably baggy and ankle-length when he'd worn them as a boy, and now hugged the rough majority of his thighs rather snugly - curse his growth spurts - and a vest from one of his short apprenticeship stints that Mother for some reason still thought did him any semblance of good, which at least fit and had a nice amount of pockets.

It was also an alarming shade of orange. The things the dyeing guild could accomplish these days...

That was all though.

With a sigh, he resigned himself to the awkwardly-fitting undershirt of the Jedian robes in the same charming shade of olive-greyish-khaki, which hung off his frame with cloth to spare, but was the best he had. At least his boots were of a dark colour and high enough to cover his calves, which the trousers had no hope of reaching.

(If the esteemed reader even so much as _thinks_ about the possibility of going to Leia and asking for the black clothing back, then our protagonist humbly requests that they might desist from reading this tale and go stuff themselves.)

It did make things a little more bothersome though; if Kylo went out like this, then he pfasking well didn't want to be recognised.

Perhaps...

Kylo muttered a quick spell over his hair, glowering at the result in the mirror.

Shorter and blond, but still tellingly curled - he'd wanted it straight, actually - and vaguely fake-looking, but at least not recognisably him anymore. And for the face...

Kylo found his horrid wireframe glasses he'd not worn since his early teenage years behind the nightstand - no, his eyes hadn't gotten any better during puberty, actually, but the world didn't look half bad in blurry, while Kylo in glasses _did_ , so he'd thrown them back there and proceeded to expunge the memory from his mind - and, needs must, promptly put them on.

(If the esteemed reader doubts the existence of glasses in that day and age, then they are hereby reminded that they are reading a fantasy-esque AU of a forty-year-old futuristic-SciFi movie franchise playing 'a long time ago', meaning the time for pointing out anachronisms has come and gone, and they are better advised to suspend their disbelief and read on.)

Kylo found himself grimly satisfied with the results, him being _entirely_ unrecognisable now - which most certainly had nothing to do with the absence of the fuzzy edges he usually saw his face with - wrote up a short note detailing his planned whereabouts, and stalked out of his room.

He missed the flapping fabric threatening to trip him up already, but at least the vest pronounced hunched shoulders quite nicely, so... small mercies.

 

"Evening, Kylo!" Rey called as she passed him in the corridor, and Kylo's blood ran cold for a second. Had she... no, she must've mistaken him for somebody else, his disguise was _flawless._ No question about that.

Kylo was a common name, wasn't it?

He was nearly at the castle's gates when his smooth escape was hindered in the worst way possible.

 _Mother_ was walking up to him.

"Renny!", she called out. "Darling, wait, we need to..."

Brilliantly quick-thinking as Kylo simply was, he turned and pointedly looked behind himself.

"I'm sorry, madwoman-lady," he told her, not at all woodenly. He'd always been a smashing success in the yearly Life Day nativity plays, everybody said so.

Eventually, at least. 

If they could still speak by then.

"I do not know who you are addressing," he continued, walking a little quicker. "There is nobody behind me."

"Oh, Ben, no." She sighed. "Don't deny your mother, sweetheart, you're being very hurtful."

"My name _isn't_ Ben!" Kylo screeched, whirling around. "It's..." He nearly gave the game up there, but the smug glint in Mother's eyes warned him just in time.

"...Matt." He finished lamely, settling on the first name that popped into his head. "I... am Matt."

"Matt." Mother repeated flatly, one of her eyebrows arching dangerously.

Kylo flinched reflexively. So much for getting out of this smoothly.

But then the brow settled slowly into a defused state.

"Of course, dear, if _that's_ how you want to play it..." She smiled warmly, just barely this side of patronising. "I apologise. But if you do see my son, _Matt_ , tell him I'm very sorry about the clothes but it had to be done, and he can have them back if he meets with our visitors after supper, yes?"

"Fat chance." Kylo murmured darkly.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing. Farewell, crazy old woman who I've never seen before!"

"'Whom', my Prince." A passing Tripio corrected.

"Shut up." Kylo snapped, running out the gates with what he would've liked to be a dramatic cloak-swirl but was barely a flutter of his shirtsleeves.

"Have a nice sulk, Renny honey!" Mother called after him, waving her handkerchief. "Remember what Luke says, the Good feelings go into the Magical Force, the Bad into the Dark! Don't kill anyone! Don't maim either! Don't stay out late! Don't talk to strangers! Remember to floss!"

Oh yes. Getting away from her for a while was _long_ overdue.

 

 

 

Kylo was heading for the very good and sufficiently cheap stables just outside of town and had only just found that he quite enjoyed the uncobbled dirt roads of the village - shuffling his feet led to nicely dramatic clouds - when all his carefully assembled plans, any aspiration he'd ever had, anything he'd imagined his life might be like, suddenly derailed.

A little like how Finn had described the moment his eyes had met Poe's through the dungeon bell's bars, but... not actually like it at all, really.

The Magical Force worked in mysterious ways sometimes, and this once it had seen fit to have Kylo be entranced enough by the dramatic potential of kicking up dust during a good stalk to completely disregard his surroundings...

...and run straight into someone.

 

Usually, when Kylo Ren collided with other people, other people backed away from Kylo Ren slowly whilst apologising profusely.

 _This_ specimen of other people spat out one of the vilest insults in the Arkanian language and backhanded Kylo Ren with such force that he went down like a sack of blumfruits.

"Ha!?" He absolutely-not-squeaked, staring up at...

"How _dare_ you, scum!" A man spat at him - nearly literally, his enunciation was _frighteningly_ sharp - glaring down at Kylo, his aura of raw fury hitting him nearly as strong as the physical blow had.

Kylo blinked, unconsciously bringing a hand up to his quickly reddening cheek. If he had another minute or two, he might start babbling not-apologies, answer with aggression in turn after five, but as it was nobody had spoken to him like that in a long time, and certainly _never_ raised a hand against him - Kylo was stunned into silence, plain and simple, by this odd furious creature spitting venom from every pore, and could do no more than open his mouth and promptly close it again.

The man noticed. "What?" He sneered. "Can't you rub your two brain cells together hard enough to get out a single word, you _wretch?_ "

His face was unfavourably twisted, the way one would observe something gooey and smelly stuck under the sole of one's boot.

It was fascinating to look at, Kylo couldn't quite take his eyes off him. People only ever smiled at the Prince, their expressions were never this multilayered, disgust over fury over contempt over haughty superiority...

"Now, listen to me, you brainless primitive." That captivating expression was suddenly a good deal closer, the man leaning over Kylo menacingly. "I like to have creatures know the name of the one who ends their worthless life, and since I find myself endlessly tempted to terminate _you_ and can just _tell_ by your idiotic gaping that you'll be hard-pressed to recall even your own..."

The man pulled his lips from his teeth, a snarl that, if it had ever been introduced to a smile, had most likely killed and dismembered it.

"You pathetic excuse for a lifeform will find yourself dead at the hands of Archmage Hux, General of the Fyrst Order of Magyke."

 

Kylo's muddled thoughts snapped to attention instantly.

 _Reminder to fact-check any and all tales of Dameron's Heroic deeds,_ he made a mental note, _because the man is a lying, embellishing, over-exaggerating pile of banthacow droppings who'd make a rancor out of a mousedroidian!_

He'd expected a monster. This wasn't a monster, not by a long shot.

Hux didn't have fire on his head, for one.

It was _red_ hair, sure, but hair nonetheless, and more of a bland orangish hue besides, shining faintly with gel and neatly parted, not wildly crackling or flame-like whatsoever.

Or the fangs thing. _Lightly pointed canines_ , at the most. Maybe a tad sharpened, but certainly with a way to go until meeting his chin!

Verdict was still pending in regards to claws, but Kylo supposed he'd see hints of the things Poe had described even through the man's leather gloves.

The eyes, well... they were rather narrowed, and glinted a little bluer or greener depending on the angle, but there wasn't anything exceptional about greyish-blue, really.

Even looming over Kylo with a murder threat hanging in the air, Hux was nothing more than a strange angry man, and if he weren't wearing the fanciful uniform-like Fyrst Order robes one might pass him in the street without a second glance.

Well, not quite, because without these robes he'd be naked, wouldn't he, and that would probably draw attention, wouldn't it.

Not that Kylo had any reason to contemplate the surprisingly-average padawan of Evil Incarnate walking around town stark naked, even though the image was kinda...

"Hot." Kylo blurted out.

The Archmage flinched back. "What!"

"Uh, _Matt!_ " Kylo corrected quickly. "My name. Matt. Is. I'm Matt, and I'm a... I do... I'm from... Matt..."

Damn. He hadn't really thought about who he was posing as except for the name. What was his motivation, his character development arc, his traits? These things needed to be established before a convincing performance, which Kylo was already giving _obviously_ , but one strived for perfection, didn't one.

"Oh, I know exactly who you are, _Matt._ " Hux hissed, and Kylo felt humiliation course through him. Second-Evilest man in all the realms, and he would forever remember Prince Kylo Ren as the town idiot who hadn't managed to wrangle his introduction into a coherent sentence.

Existence _just wasn't fair._

 

" _You_ are a _lowly peasant,_ and nothing more." 

Kylo blinked, once more taken aback a little. "Peasant!" He breathed. Why hadn't he thought of it? "'Matt the Lowly Peasant, yes, that could work!" 

"A worthless _insect_ that is too boneheaded to even realise how pitiful its existence is." Hux sneered on over his mutterings, face pulling into even more unpleasant angles. "If you had even a modicum of brain, you'd be begging me to spare your depressing little life like the _sniffling worm_ you are. No, I take it back, an intelligent version of you would be begging me to _end_ its existence."

Now that was getting a trifle personal, Kylo felt, but Hux's face aquired a smug, fiendishly delighted glow when he pulled the fibres of other people's self-esteem apart, and all he could do was watch in morbid fascination and think _I've never seen a man so arrestingly cruel._

And, somehow, whichever way that sentiment expressed itself on Kylo's features (he'd often been told that he had a surprisingly open face that easily betrayed his thoughts - and a little twitching tick around the mouth) was the thing that startled Hux out of his rant.

He straightened up, pulling his shoulders back stiffly into a military stance, a mildly confused-irritated frown digging itself out from in between his eyebrows. He even checked surreptitiously if there was anything particularly captivating just behind him that Kylo might be staring at instead.

"What?" Hux said once more, something suspicious slipping into the ugly mix of emotions broiling just under the surface of his skin.

"What?" Kylo echoed dumbly.

Near two decades of formal princely education, and this was what his communication skills boiled down to.

Mother had been _right_ , as much as it pained him to admit, he _did_ need the extra have-amicable-conversation training.

 

The Archmage shot him an appraising glance, considering something or other, until finally coming to a decision.

"Up." He ordered, flicking a finger dismissively at Kylo. "And be quick about it worm, I've only just decided not to kill you on the spot, wouldn't do to test my patience."

Kylo scrambled to his feet, and entirely forgot to add in his head that he did it because he wanted to and not because someone else commanded it.

And then he had no opportunity to add it, too preoccupied with yet another reason to curse Dameron's name to the Seven Skies.

The beast.

The _'beast'_.

Hux clicked his tongue, and it slipped out of the nearest shadow, winding its body around its master's legs.

The fearsome, dragon-sized, flaming tigress was nothing but a fat orange tabby.

Who hissed at him quite pointedly.

"Oh, absolutely, my beauty." Hux scooped the cat up, settling it against his shoulder with a delicacy that might seem loving in a lesser man. "Perhaps I'll feed you his giblets once he's outlived his usefulness, would you like that, Millie?"

The cat purred, and Kylo could swear he saw its eyes flash blue in sync with its master's for a brief moment.

Worrying. Being ended by an Archmage's hand was very nearly an honour.

Being ended _by his literal cat's paw_ , less so.

"Now. Peasant. Tell me," Hux bared his teeth at Kylo again, and unsettlingly, the cat mirrored him.

"Does this stinking little hole in the ground have a tavern anywhere?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this were a soulmate AU, both of them would have very unfortunate first words tattooed on their skin... vile Arkanian curse and "Hot." This first meeting couldn't have gone worse.  
> Or could it? Do comment if you have a worse scenario in mind!
> 
> And more art! Matt!Kylo and Archmage!Hux, including Millicent.


	4. In Which Ale Is Imbibed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and in which virginal sensibilities are offended.

Kylo wasn't kicking up dust anymore after Hux had paused mid-stride, turned to him and said only "you _child"_   with a sneer so profoundly disgusted it made him a little lightheaded.

The cat was staring at him over Hux's shoulder as they walked, Kylo noted, its double-tipped tail only just visible as it swished back and forth.

He was singularly tempted to pull faces at it, but if that alleged mental connection included shared sight, he might come to regret it.

Hux wasn't particularly happy with him as it was.

"Why..." Kylo started.

"Ah!" Hux's free hand - the one not supporting the cat's bulk - shot up, cutting him off. "How do we put a question before our betters, wretch?"

Kylo gaped a little, which no doubt looked rather unbecoming. He was, of course, familiar with courtly protocol, but, quite frankly, also much more used to witnessing it from the other side of the power imbalance.

The cat made a face as if it was rolling its eyes, and from the motion of his head, Hux was doing the same.

 _"Might you grant me leave to ask you,"_ he prompted with the tone of a man who is both longsuffering and sick of it to the point of impending homicide.

Kylo scowled. That was a Tripio kind of sentence, he didn't like that at all.

"Might you grant me leave to ask you", he petulantly muttered nonetheless.

_"Sir."_

Kylo grumbled something that maybe sounded a tiny bit like 'sir', but obviously wasn't that word because Kylo would never stoop so low, Archmage or not.

The cat hissed at him, but Hux waved a gloved hand in vague permission.

"Why should I bring you to a tavern." Kylo bit out, wanting to stuff his hands into the folds of a cloak, or at the very least some pockets, but his clothing didn't really allow for it.

"Because I'm not familiar with Coruscastle yet," Hux retorted primly. "And the fewer disgusting primates I need to ask for directions, the better."

Kylo had to admit, it was rather close to his impulse to not talk to anyone _ever._ In so many words.

"Another question, mumblesirmumble."

"Oh, go on then. A desire to educate oneself, even as futile as yours clearly is, should be encouraged."

"Why do you _want_ to go to a tavern?"

"Careful, _Matt._ That was nearly an intelligent question. Don't want you to strain yourself." Hux's voice sounded more amused than threatening, but on some level Kylo still felt intimidated.

Maybe it was the fact that the cat didn't seem to blink very much.

Or at all.

"The answer, however, is simple. I am scheduled to meet some Prince after dinner."

Kylo frowned. "Then shouldn't you be heading to the castle?"

Hux laugh- no, that was the wrong word. Cackled. Yes, that seemed closer to the mark.

"Oh, you poor little idiot!" He gasped. "Meet some imbecilic fathead spawn of Organa and some Corellian lowlife, or get too drunk to remember I dwell on this plane of existence, much less this pathetic little backwater of a realm; not much of a competition, is there?"

Kylo had never been drunk - Mother only allowed one cup of diluted wine at dinners, age of maturity or not - but if it caused one to forget one's surroundings, then he felt as if he'd missed out on countless invaluable opportunities.

"The Prince isn't an imbecilic fathead!" He felt obliged to argue. "He's going to finish what..."

Hux groaned, at the same time the cat meowed. "Spare me the propaganda, Fyrst Order disciples think Snoke is _handsome_ , that should say enough about the truthfulness of whatever nonsense miserable underlings like you parrot."

Kylo hadn't seen the man, but if Dameron's description held even a modicum of truth (which was doubtful enough) then Hux might have a point.

A borderline treasonous point, but a point nonetheless.

 

 

 

Kylo really only knew one tavern in Coruscastle and surrounding area - see Mother's anti-alcoholic policies - and that one just because it was where Father left contraband and picked up blood alcohol levels right before actually entering what was only his "home" in all technicality.

"Hello, Maz." He greeted the tavernmistress stiffly. Poor woman looked rather startled at the sight of him, likely because she had absolutely no idea who this strange unknown man addressing her was. "My name is Matt. I'm a Lowly Peasant."

Maz's already bulbous eyes widened a little further, to the point that they seemed to even surpass the circumference of her round glasses, and she clamped one hand over her mouth as if she'd nearly burst out laughing, but she didn't say why. Perhaps something going on just over Kylo's shoulder, who knew.

He gestured to his side, where Hux was eyeing a stain on the floor with palpable distaste. "And that is..."

"A man who is sober and would like to have that remedied." Hux cut him off impatiently, setting the cat down onto the bar where it immediately began patrolling back and forth. "Sit, peasant, and don't say a word until this... bartending _creature_ has given me, let's see..."

Maz's expression wavered visibly between amusement and the impulse to serve him the rat poison she kept under the bar since the last plague.

Kylo suspected it wouldn't be the first time, either - Maz was a tough old bird who'd likely done worse for less in her prime - but still rather hoped she wouldn't.

Hux was... interesting.

Exciting.

 

"I find it highly unlikely that you have anything even _resembling_ a quality vintage of Endorian sweetwine, so whichever you have from that area will do." He commandeered haughtily.

No response. Kylo would've _liked_ to say something, but the cat had prowled back to glare at him while pointedly licking between its claws, so he rather not.

"...any wine-resembling beverage?"

Maz propped her head up on one arm, giving Hux a look that quite clearly communicated how singularly unimpressed she was with some entitled Fyrst-Orderling making impossible demands in her bar.

Hux pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Brandy?" He ventured.

"Better." Maz muttered, hopping off her little footstool to get a bottle.

But Hux pulled a disgusted face upon seeing it that was nearly - _nearly_ \- on par with the expression he showed Kylo. "Corellian!? Woman, take that swill away before I become nauseated from proximity alone!"

Maz slammed the bottle onto the bar with force, clearly beyond fed up.

"Look, kid. This is an _alehouse._ I have _ale._ It's not like I'm advertising for anything else but _ale._ Now, _esteemed_ guest, what would you like to drink?"

Kylo blinked. He knew old Maz only as a peculiar but kind tavernmistress. The short temper was new, but maybe that was simply the effect Hux had on people. Kylo was nearly jealous, all _his_ behaviour ever did was inspire undue, only mildly passive-aggressive kindness.

"...ale." Hux spat out the word as if it had personally offended him.

Maz rolled her eyes. "Bless, we got there."

 

Kylo gave it a few more minutes - long enough for Hux to entirely drain the first tankard and wave for a new one - before he dared speak.

"You _do_ know you just insulted our closest allied realm, don't you?"

"And could. Not. Care. Less." Hux took large swallows between each word. "I am precisely one Organa, about four-thirds of Jedian knights, and _too pfasking much_ ceremonial fuss past caring. Here."

He put the first tankard with its dregs at the bottom in front of Kylo, but when he reached for it, the cat swiped at his fingers, hissing pointedly, before settling down in front of it, reaching one paw in and delicately licking up the ale that clung to it.

Kylo scowled at it. The creature _was_ a beast, at least deep down.

"I hope that poisons you, fleabag." He growled at the cat, low enough to not reach Hux's ears.

Who snorted nonetheless. "Oh, _please._ My Millicent is made from tougher stuff, aren't you, pet?"

The cat flicked the left tip of its tail in silent acknowledgement, and Hux smiled darkly into his second ale. 

"Oh, and, Matt?" He continued sweetly. "Don't insult her again, she's a female _cat_ and still easily thrice the man you are, peasant worm."

It wouldn't be difficult to kill Hux, at all, his neck would snap like a little twig if Kylo just wrapped his hand around it and...

But that was what Mother and Uncle Luke wanted.

Kylo wouldn't ever give them the satisfaction.

 

Hux had... _opinions._ Many, and wasn't particularly shy about voicing them.

Which he really _should_ be, considering they were the kind that could get one locked up in most of the Allied Realms of Republica, and lynched in Coruscastle considering how very many of them were intimately personal in regards to the royal family.

Kylo actually would've liked a piece of flimsiment and a quill to write some of the finer points down, Hux had smashing material.

Especially the bit with the nerf-herding, that was just plain _inspired._

Kylo had the faint suspicion people didn't usually listen to Hux this long, he glanced over on occasion and always seemed genuinely surprised to see Kylo still sitting there. It made him faintly furious, to think such a _virtuoso_ went unappreciated.

"...and _that_ ," Hux wrapped up his point beautifully and tied a neat little bow of elitism around it, "is why the public must be made aware that any of those Kashyyk _pelts_ could be about to stab upstanding orderly citizens at any time. The actually _valuable_ citizens, not peasant scum like _you,_ of course."

Kylo nodded eagerly. Very effective rhetoric, nothing at all like that idiotic feel-good dribble Mother fed the masses in her speeches. Certainly, the personal insults might not appeal to _everyone_ , but if an attentive PA went over the speech once or twice...

"So." Hux contemplated the last few swallows of his third ale, which might also be the fourth. The fact that he couldn't quite tell anymore would probably be considered a good sign. "Does this repurposed hogsty have rooms to let, do you know?"

_Non-sequitur much?_

"Well... yes, I think." Kylo mused. "Maz, d'you have a room free?"

The tavernmistress gave a noncommittal shrug long years of experience indicated to mean yes.

"She does, but why would you even..."

 

 

Back when Kylo had still been young, impressionable and _Ben_ , Uncle Luke had liked to impart regular helpings of pointless White Magic fortune cookie 'wisdom' upon him.

Those occurrences had ceased to happen once the beauty of such concepts as 'tantrum' and 'sulk' had revealed itself to young Benny, but sometimes these nonsensical empty phrases simply inserted themselves into his conscious even if they fit only in the most remote of senses.

 _Patience, all things come to pass in their turn._ (Standard.)

 _The Dark is as fire: it makes you blaze powerfully, but you burn to a crisp beneath it._ (Doomsaying.)

 _Open the blind man's eyes, or he might be deaf to your pleas one day._ (A particularly weird one.)

And then, of course: 

_Never assume, Benny. The Magical Force is grander and more knowledgeable than you and me both separate and together, and it WILL forever find ways to surprise you. Fate twists and turns until it doubles back and assaults you from where you least expect it._

 

 

 _Never assume,_ Uncle Luke was therefore whispering into Kylo's head, when Hux grabbed a handful of his hair and _bit his mouth._

Other people might call it a kiss, but while Kylo had never... he hadn't... before... _anyway,_ he was certain a kiss would contain more tenderness and substantially less teeth.

No blood. That was for sure.

Hair-pulling... well. That had a bit of an appeal, if Kylo was entirely honest, but his scalp might have begun bleeding also by now and that seemed kiss-atypical.

Kylo certainly couldn't tell if it was _good_ at all, this not-kiss biting, too preoccupied with internally screaming, scrabbling for purchase on the counter and not whimpering pitifully because _it really, really hurt._

Oh, and maybe pulling back or something eventually.

Once he got to that.

No rush.

 

And just as quick as it had started, it was over, the hand untangling from his unusually short hair to clamp itself around Kylo's jaw and firmly push him away.

"Hmmm." Hux pulled a face like he was feeling a vague sense of disappointment and was trying to pinpoint whatever contributed to it _most._

(Kylo, for his part, was thiiiiis close to hyperventilating, or maybe destroying something in a fit of... no, it wasn't exactly _rage_ coursing through him at the moment, though it did have a similarly burning feel to it.)

"You'll improve quickly, or at least I _highly_ suggest you do." Threatening. Hux was most certainly threatening him now. "That was simply _pitiful_ , but what did I expect from the likes of you?"

Kylo informed him calmly that such statements were highly inappropriate and he would of course give optimum satisfaction if not assaulted out of the blue, and beyond that kindly go and strangulate self with own lower intestine.

It was most definitely that which he did, and not, say, splutter helplessly and stare at Hux's lips rather than his eyes.

Preposterous.

"Now go tell that Maz woman you'll take a room for the night."

"Wh..."

"Why?" Hux and the cat rolled their eyes perfectly in sync, both of them looking more fed up than it should be possible for carbon-based life to look. "Because I'll certainly not give the rabble here a performance, thus any copulation must be carried out in more private, if not hygienic, surroundings. In other, much simpler words for the benefit of your struggling braincell singularis, _I'm not screwing you here so get a room if you want to be getting any,_ MATT."

The faint memory of Rey's staff clattering sharply on the throne room's marble tiles rang in Kylo's ears, and as unsuited as he was to empathy, he very much understood how her shock must've felt then, her surprise at a suggestion so unfitting, so outlandish as...

As...

"WHAT!?!?" Kylo exploded the moment the implicit proposition sunk in fully.

"What, what, _what._ " Hux echoed sardonically. "I'm beginning to think I might've fared better with the Princeling, at least he'd have a word or two more in his vocabulary!"

"B-bu... I don't... I wo... I... w-when did I _ever_ suggest I wanted to..." Kylo lowered his voice to a whisper, cheeks burning hotly, "...have you _s-share my bedstead!_ "

Kylo was usually more suave than that. A true playboy, if he'd ever come to have any aspirations thataway.

Truly. Hux had simply caught him on an off-day.

 

"Oh dear, have I offended your virginal sensibilities by being so blunt about it?" Hux was eyeing the ale Maz was pouring just down the bar with a profound longing in his eyes even as his tone turned vaguely flippant. "As difficult as it might be for you to imagine, there are people within this plane of existence that are _not fools,_ and I am among those. Why else would you have listened to me speak so long if you hadn't been imagining my mouth put to better use all that time?"

"No!" Kylo vehemently shook his head, affronted. "You were making some _extremely_ valid..."

Hux did another of those not-laugh cackles, so cold Kylo thought it must taste like ice shards if he were to... no, that not-kiss was a singular occurrence, it would _never_ happen again, and certainly not instigated by him.

"Do not _mock_ me, you worthless peasant. I'm self-aware enough to know I'm a disagreeable person to say the least. People remain in proximity to me for precisely _three_ reasons." He paused briefly, glanced at Millicent, who flicked one tip of her ear. "No, pet, I don't think he knows his numbers either. _Three,_ wretch. It's like one radish and another and another, can you picture that? THIS."

Hux held up three fingers. Kylo should maybe feel mildly affronted at that.

"Reason ONE. They want a political advantage from me. TWO, they want to kill me, happens more frequently than one might think. And THREE, they want to wrap their legs 'round my waist or vice vers- _oh, will you cease blushing, you infantile lug!_ In any case, you're _obviously_ not an overly ambitious member of foreign royalty, and _even more obviously_ not tasked with killing me. Process of elimination. Now hurry before I reconsider this whole enterprise, as I'm terribly tempted to."

"W-" Kylo's voice cracked like the teenager's he hadn't been for years. This, he could tell, was a defining, now-or-never moment, the last chance to confess the truth before the lie would become entirely unretractable. "What if I... _were_ a Prince who should be assassinating you?"

Hux paused.

Made a show of leaning back in his seat and giving Kylo a slow and deliberate once-over.

"Honestly? Your physique is _already_ enabling me to look past your crippled non-entity of a brain, and it's _still_ in the position to compensate for another dozen flaws. The minuscule chance of you being a murderous royal is _well_ worth taking."

Kylo Ren shot him an incredulous look, this mad, _mad_ but brilliant man who fascinated him so, who had bitten his first kiss right off his lips, who talked more kindly to his demon cat than to him, this man who was Evil Incarnate's priced pupil, who he'd been ordered to destroy by his closest familial relation.

Kylo Ren made a decision, and knew instantly it was the right one to make.

 

Without another glance at Hux, he pushed his chair back, got up...

And grabbed the tankard for the table in the left-from-the-door corner directly from Maz's hands, proceeding instantly to chug down every single drop of bitter, frankly _disgusting_ ale that was in it.

"Maz?" He said, only a tad bit hoarsely.

"I need a room."

 

 

 

_Leia shuddered._

_"Luke?" She said. "I... I feel a disturbance."_

_Luke hummed._

_"I don't know what it is, only... that I should've prevented it at all costs."_

_Luke hummed again._

_"Oh, for..." Leia sighed. "I've got a bad feeling about this."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art: Matt!Kylo watching an irritated Archmage adoringly.
> 
> Aren't they simply the _sweetest_ couple? Stormpilot's got nothing on 'em!  
>  (Very thinly-veiled attempt to provoke Finn/Poe shippers into leaving aggravated comments... come on guys! Defend your OTP!)


	5. In Which A Non-Relationship Is Negotiated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and in which Maz is a jerk face.

_Well._ Kylo stared up at the ceiling, chest heaving. _That... had happened._

Hux had been as aggressive in... _this_ (Kylo still was a little squeamish in regards to crasser words) as he was in near everything, Kylo felt as if the man cracked open his ribcage and gouged all his angry, roiling-with-darkness innards out, leaving only an empty husk.

Which was... _good._ For the first time, Kylo didn't feel like he desperately needed to eviscerate someone.

(He still _wanted_ to, a bit, but it wasn't a necessity.)

Uncle Luke had described this to him as the sensation one experienced while in communion with the Magical Force.

_Hah!_ Kylo actually giggled then, feeling delirious, giddy, and more than a little drunk. _Communion, yes. Force? Nope!_

 

"Oh dear, did you break your sad little brain with how inadequate you were?"

Hux was sneering pointedly down at him, the effect of the disapproval mildly lessened by his state of clothing (nonexistent) and the tiny self-satisfied quirk curdling his lips.

"Or maybe I was _too_ adequate. 'Virginal', was I correct?"

Kylo flushed red. "No!" He said quickly. "Very. Experienced, me. I am. Not... that."

"Hmm. In other words, you filthy little liar, you've never as much as touched human skin that wasn't your own. Or, no, I revise that, with the way you _wept_ when I licked..."

Kylo cringed, momentarily deaf to the elaborate and undoubtedly visceral recollections Hux was outlining.

"...and the way you explode with embarrassment when I mention it, you've likely never even touched your _own_ skin! Dark Force, I _do_ know how to pick 'em..."

A meow sounded from atop the rickety little table, and Hux snorted crudely. "No, no, let us be fair, he's not quite as bad as _him_ and I'm not as drunk as I was _then._ Credit where credit is due."

Kylo squawked. "Cat!"

"Yes. _Cat._ It's like a dog, just worlds better. Any other animals you'd like me to explain?"

"Was... was it here when we..."

"SHE. And yes, obviously."

Hux slid out of the what-passes-for-clean-to-peasants sheets to sit on the side of the bed, stretching until some joints cracked sharply into place.

"A little tryst with a peasant whelp won't part me from her. Millicent stays with me unless I find her a worthy task."

Kylo felt a little nauseous. The cat's level stare seemed very judging to him.

"Don't worry, she's very discreet. Whichever... semi-attractive bantha you plan to put a ring on needn't ever know of this sordid affair."

Hux pulled the trousers of his uniform on, and something clicked in Kylo's mind.

"You're already leaving!?" He exclaimed, only a tad too shrilly, but he didn't like the thought much.

He was going to continue on his journey in the morning, after all. And by the time Father would bring him back home, the Fyrst Order would likely be gone again already. 

Kylo wanted... _some more._

"Oh." Hux half-turned, studying Kylo over his still-bare shoulder with a strange look in his eyes. "Oh, poor little child."

He strode back to the bed, long, military steps, hands clasped at his back.

And then, quite suddenly, he struck Kylo for the second time (that... thing he did while they were... that didn't count), forehand this time.

"Listen to me, _wretch._ " Hux hissed, grabbing a handful of Kylo's hair and pulling him close. "If you're under any illusion that this _meant_ something, let me correct you here and now. I am not interested in anything besides your body, and I've had my fill of that. You can cry and beg and _snivel_ all you wish, there's nothing more to it. Affection, _love_ , all those pathetic little emotions you pathetic little people need to feel validated in life, they're _worthless._ Take your emotional dependency to the first man who pitied you enough to _'share your bed'_ , as you put it, elsewhere, because I. Don't. Want. It. Understood?"

 

Kylo blinked.

And grinned wildly.

He couldn't stop smiling, he couldn't. Hux was _radiant_ when he spoke like this. So hateful and condescending.

"Sure! I understand." He might be looking a little manic, Hux was carefully angling his unprotected torso away from him and tightening the fingers in his hair. "No emotions. I agree, _brilliant_ points you made. I was just... kinda hoping we could also... again... with..."

Kylo blushed again, he was sure of it.

Hux studied him for a moment.

"Ah." He released Kylo's hair. "Maybe not as indescribably stupid as all that, most wretches I do this with desperately _need_ the clarification. Their sad minuscule brains like to see more in such encounters than there is."

He walked back to his stack of (neatly folded, he'd insisted on taking the time) clothes, continuing to dress.

"I can't quite believe I'm saying this, but I... seem to have _wronged_ you, Matt-the-Peasant. You're an idiot, but not idiotic enough to fall in love. Most people are, it's terribly depressing. I despair of mankind sometimes."

Fully dressed, he primly smoothed his hair down.

"I need to return to the castle, diplomatic visit and all that, but... if you happen to still reside here tomorrow evening... then so will I."

Hux stalked over, kissed him fierce and strangely businesslike until Kylo's lip was bleeding, scooped up Millicent, and was gone.

Just like that.

 

And even though what Hux had done to him had left his body rather... _exhausted_ , Kylo lay awake for a long time, staring up at the inexplicably-stained ceiling, and wondered.

Mother and Uncle Luke would undoubtedly make his life even-more-hell if they ever heard of what had happened this evening, much less want it to continue.

Father wouldn't begrudge him a bit of fun, but _continuing_ to sleep with the enemy might not go down so well.

Rey wouldn't understand. She only lived to be Heroic, a selfish thing such as this would only meet with her sombre disappointment.

Tripio would consider it improper, Phasma counterproductive, DameronandFinn would probably cry their soft little hearts out for him.

But just when he thought that literally _everyone_ he knew would counsel him to forget this had ever happened and run come morning, Kylo's thoughts drifted to Grandfather.

Grandfather Anakin, Lord Vader, who should have forgot he'd ever seen a vision of Grandmother dying and stayed put where he was.

He hadn't conformed to what others demanded of him. He'd taken the risk and run off. He'd followed his own affixed beliefs in ordee to continue to be with the person who kept him enraptured like no other, not heeding the jedian dribble others fed him.

(...how had the story ended again? Ah, never mind, Kylo was sure it didn't matter.)

Besides, it wasn't as if the stakes were anywhere near as high in his situation.

Kylo made a decision.

He wasn't _as_ sure it was the right one this time.

 

 

 

"Maz!" Kylo whispered. "Maz! Over here!"

The tavernmistress glanced up from the stain in the shape of a bowcaster she was trying to expunge from the wood - fat chance, that had been there since the first time Kylo had been here - and leaned over.

"Yes, peasant boy?"

Kylo hesitated. But only briefly, hesitation was for weaklings.

"I have a bombspell announcement to make, Maz." He paused for effect. "I'm not Matt. I'm..."

Before he could even pull his glasses off, Maz cut in.

"Han's boy, I know."

"Oh." That threw him a little. "How? My disguise was perfect!"

"Kid, you're not..." Maz once more looked like she was terribly amused by something. "Know what, never mind. Guess the Magical Force must've just whispered the truth in my ear."

She spat on her rag and began cleaning a tankard with it. "So, want to explain what went on with the redhead first, or just pay for the room and walk-of-shame out on me?"

Kylo squirmed uncomfortably.

"Maz, I... could I... would you... I'd like to stay a few more nights. Just, uh, I don't _exactly_ have money with me, and can't get any either because Mother - or anyone else - mustn't know, so..." Kylo swallowed hard. It didn't sound good, saying it out loud.

Maz leaned onto the bar, giving him that terribly unimpressed look.

"So you want to stay in my best room for free. Probably to continue shagging the rudest patron my alehouse has had in a long time. And the wife of one of my oldest friends, my Queen, _your mother,_ must be kept in the dark about it."

"...please?"

She smiled broadly. Or as broadly as Maz could, her mouth was rather small in contrast with the big eyes. Which had gained a very worrying twinkle. Oh, _pfask._

"Why, sure, boy. But it's gonna cost you. And I'm not talking money."

 

Kylo was scrubbing furiously over the bowcaster stain, but it wasn't even getting _lighter in colour._ The wood around it was peeling away quicker, at close inspection.

"And once you're done with _that,_ you can go clean the porg pen." Maz was still smiling. Oh, he hated her, how he hated her, there was not a single decent person in all the realms. "Careful where you step, those little guys produce a looooot of dung!"

Kylo glowered at her. 

"And don't forget, I'm doing you a favour here, _Matt._ "

Kylo glowered harder.

"Jerk face." He mumbled.

People were _mean._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus begins my love letter to Matt and all he stands for, interspersed with bits of thoroughly dysfunctional Kylux.
> 
> Apologies for the (in comparison to others) rather delayed update, I'm currently very committed to knitting a metre-long scarf for a Halloween-party cosplay...  
> Hope you enjoyed anyway!


	6. In Which Sweetcake Has Not Been Had

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and in which things are euphemised terribly.

Kylo hugged the ratty pillow, watching Hux trying to stare Millicent down so she might move away from where she was arrogantly squatting on his coat.

"You know, I'm working here at this tavern to pay for the room." He murmured.

"And so you should. Peasants need to be working and occupied, or they will have foolish rebellious ideas."

"You _could've_ chipped in..."

"Yes, like that one, exactly. Go on, Millie, off."

Kylo sighed - the feeling of empty bliss had yet to abate, so he wasn't particularly furious with Hux for damning him to a day of humiliating menial labour - and tried a half-hearted pout. 

"If you'd left the cat outside like I said, you wouldn't have to fight her for your clothes."

"And it gets worse! Filthy peasants, thinking they can speak to me any which way just because I did _them_ any which... well, not quite _any_ , but I'm sure we'll get to that in time."

Kylo perked up. "So you'll come back tomorrow?"

The emptiness within him now acquired a vaguely bubbly feeling. Very nice.

Hux rolled his eyes. "Dull is what you are. A man with half a conscious would've deduced hedonistic tendencies from seeing me drain one ale after the other and not foolishly assumed I'd be capable of quitting after I already _indulged_ twice."

Kylo blinked.

Hux rolled his eyes. "YES, idiot lug. I'll return. Even though Millicent evidently doesn't like the idea, she's clearly in a huff. Probably thinks your idiocy might rub off if I remain here much longer."

"Or she's trying to tell you that it's alright to stay the night with me, as you'd clearly like to do."

Hux turned slowly, and fixed Kylo with a withering look that made him inadvertently curl up to protect all his soft, squishy bits.

...parts of which were not so soft anymore. What could he say, he _liked_ Hux's broad range of "you worthless scum under the soles of my boots"-faces.

"I. Don't. Think. So." Hux punctuated each word as if it was personally at fault for him having to say it. "First of all I _cannot_ stay, I'm the Archmage of the Fyrst Order and those boneheads up at the castle suspect me of planning high treason as it is, no need to rile them up further with prolonged disappearances. Second, if Millie wants me to know something she _tells_ me. Third, why do you think I'd even _want_ to stay after the deed is done?"

Hux tugged at the side of his coat, and the cat _finally_ rolled off it with a dour look on her little cat face.

"But since your brain is an empty hall where somebody forgot to put the fire out before leaving, that was evidently two points to many - TWO, one radish and then another - and you've likely stopped listening already. I swear, if you were any less delectable physically, I would not _bother_ with a lousy peasant who has ideas far above his..."

 

"I know why you'd want to stay." Kylo said suddenly, surprising even himself a little.

Hux paused, halfway in his coat.

"Because of that. You like to rant at people, and nobody at the castle would listen to you."

Kylo preened a little at the clever realisation he'd made. He was _special_  to Hux, he was being told things face to face without having to eavesdrop, in fact he was being entrusted with things other people _weren't_ allowed to know.

Well, Hux probably thought he was too stupid to remember any of them, much less tell others, but it still felt strangely good.

Hux seemed briefly stunned, but collected himself quickly.

"I don't need _some peasant_ to talk to!" He spat, pulling open the door. "Millicent is a better listener anyway."

And gone he was.

That he hadn't bite-kissed him this time made Kylo feel un-bubbly and empty again, just in a worse way.

 

 

 

Kylo's list of people he was going to kill one day kept expanding and expanding.

Currently, Maz's cook, a stout - and impatient - woman was heading the list, mostly because he was holding a very heavy wrench and she was being a very loud nuisance.

The opportunity was just so very _there._

Kylo uselessly banged the wrench against the pipe he was meant to do... _something_ to, and the cook woman got even louder.

"Alright, it's real easy. Here's what I need you to do, and you _listen_ this time, yeah Matt? Just gotta get that decalcinator rewelded, 'kay?"

Kylo glared at the pipework. It didn't do much.

"So... remove this..." He reached into the black void under Maz's sink.

"Does _that_ look like a decalcinator to you!?" The cook shouted. Why wasn't she just doing this herself, Kylo thought darkly. And also, why wasn't she getting her head kicked in somewhere. That too.

"Why is this so hard for you! Whats wrong with you, why can't you just DO it?"

Deep breath in, Kylo. Deep breath out.

"I. Don't. Know." Kylo gritted out. "But _maybe_ you should stop yelling at me, because you're STRESSING ME OUT."

"Yeah? What you gonna do, eh, Matt? Gonna get the royal guard down here to arrest me?"

Kylo glowered. _No, I'll crack your skull open with this pfasking decalcinator thing, that's what I'll do._

"Yeah, didn't think so. Now, can we _please_ wrap this up so I can have my sweetcake? I haven't had my sweetcake yet, _Matt._ "

Even in previous apprenticeships, people had never been so rude. Or eardrum-piercing.

"I hope you choke on it." Kylo murmured darkly.

The cook gave him a look that Kylo would eventually understand to mean "I will spit into all your meals" (but not until it was much too late) and left him to it.

Finally free of her hindering influence, Kylo was confident he'd have the plumbing fixed in no time.

Five minutes later, when the tavern's kitchen was flooded and reeked faintly of stale water, Kylo's confidence had waned a little.

Ten minutes after that, when Kylo had only barely got the fire under control and still had to catch the baby ewok swimming around the kitchen - now smelling very distinctly of smoke and regurgitated berry paste - he no longer even knew how to _spell_ confidence.

The 'peasants' Hux always went on about clearly had it tougher than he'd thought.

 

"I told myself I would not ask since your puny little lives interest me not one whit, but... is there a _reason_ why the tavernmistress is trying to towel a singularly hairy child dry?"

"..."

"And why the cook is waving an unwelded decalcinator around and cursing your name?"

"..."

"Well, peasant? Struck even dumber than you usually are?"

"...can't we just go make the beast with two backs now?"

"You know, for a halfwit, you have a startlingly large array of terrible euphemisms. If you ever call it 'coitus', I will _leave,_ just so you're aware..."

"Can we?"

"...it's called _sex,_ plain and simple, who knew lowly peasants were such prudes..."

"Hux... p- p- p-"

"Millicent would like to know if you're planning to get there anytime _this_ age."

"....p-pleeeeeease?"

"Well. I do like it when you beg..."

"I WASN'T _BEGGING!!!_ "

"Indoors voice, worm."

"Grrrmmmmmrrr... m'wasn't begging."

"You were saying please. _Pleading,_ if you prefer."

" _Wasn't BEGGING though!_ "

"You can continue arguing your point, you overgrown child, or you can... _entice_ me to divest myself of my clothes in a timely fashion. What'll it be?"

"..."

"..."

"...Iwastotallybeggingandcanyoukeepthebootsonplease?"

"Why, since you asked so nicely..."

(Any communication past this point, we assure the esteemed reader, is of a much more _carnal_ nature, and shall therefore be omitted. 

At the esteemed reader's discretion, some details might, however, be divulged: the boots did, in fact, stay on, Kylo forgot all about the catastrophe of the previous day during the night's enjoyment, and Hux eventually got the entire story out of the cook when she accosted him on the way up to Kylo's current lodgings, seeming under the misguided impression Hux needed to be "warned" about "that hoodlum".

Hux had, if the esteemed reader is interested, laughed in her face. We aren't certain what else he told the woman pertaining to Kylo, we only know that she regarded him with a pitiful eye thereafter and offered him a piece of sweetcake with the words "the least I can do for you, poor boy. Be strong."

She had still spat into his food, though. Pity, the esteemed reader will surely agree, only goes so far.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway through my scarf, update for you!  
> If you, esteemed readers, are as much fans of cuddly little ewok babies as my Nugget is, rest assured it'll make a reappearance!


	7. In Which There Is A Baby Ewok

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and in which a valiant attempt at haggling is made.

He could just... _squeeze._

Simply reach out with the Magical Force and _squeeze the life out of her puny little body!_

"I know those eyes." Maz said smugly. "Those are the eyes of a man who imagines killing me in more or less creative ways."

Kylo made a very rude gesture.

"And _that_ is the action of a man who wants to be ratted out to his mother. You sure that's you, boy?"

".......no."

Maz smiled and patted his head. Somehow. Kylo was at least quadruple her size after all.

"Now, you two get along. Have fun at the market!"

And with that, she shoved him out the door.

Him and...

"Yub-yub!" The bundle in his arm said.

"Silence, or I shall feed you to my boyfr- my lov- my bedma- _Hux's_ cat." Kylo hissed darkly.

The baby ewok gurgled and put a paw in its mouth. Kylo had the faint suspicion it didn't truly comprehend the severity of the situation.

"Nobody will miss you." Kylo continued cruelly, holding the little creature up to eye level as he walked so he might watch the despair creep into its countenance. "Dearly beloved children aren't abandoned in taverns. Father left _me_ at one once, so I should know! You should be glad you don't have contraband stashed in your diaper, or your deadbeat dad might come back and condemn you to a life of being a Hero Prince - Princess? - with your awful, awful furry-bear family, after all. And the only bit of contentment you'll ever achieve will be under the guise of a commoner ewok, furtively meeting with a red-furred Archmage, dreading the moment you'll have to go back to your normal life with all... your..."

Kylo suddenly felt weirdly like despairing himself.

"Yuuuub....", the baby ewok patted his head consolingly.

"I don't need your pity!" Kylo growled, and then he manly-ly wiped away some manly tears he had shed in a manly way.

Because he was too manly for that thought, obviously.

He stuffed Yubbie - he would've liked to call the thing Child of Edginess or something equally awesome, but a name of that length seemed simply cumbersome - under one arm and stomped on. Its stubby limbs flailed a little, but it yubbed in a way that was more giddy than terrified, so it must be fine.

Kylo would _kill_ the little furball if it threw up on his vest, though. He still hadn't gotten around to wheedling money out of Maz for a change of clothes. Maybe if he squeezed some discounts out of the merchants, he'd have enough left over from Maz's tight food budget to trade up for better replacements, or at least a second set of absolutely horrid gear.

(Kylo was, frankly, _sick_ of having to cover himself with a ratty blanket while Maz put his clothes through the wash. The tweezers she put onto her nose were particularly insulting.)

He might keep the trousers though. Their _very snug_ fit did... things... to his posterior, which, in turn, did... things... to Hux. 

Enjoyable things. 

Yes, Kylo decided, no matter what, the trousers would stay.

 

 

Shopping went well, Kylo found that Coruscastle-born traders still liked to give him things for free - take that, Phasma, who'd always said it was just because they recognised their Prince! - and the foreigners only needed to be glowered at a while until they turned distinctly mousey and shoved things at him until he went away.

Meaning Kylo had a jingling pouchful of coin to carry to the textile market and buy himself something heavy and swirling and _black._

Magical Force, Kylo _missed_ the total absence of colour.

He was just contemplating a very nice dark-grey maternity dress that he was dead certain he could make work, when, all of a sudden...

"Yuuuuuuuuub!" The baby ewok squealed and squirmed, excitedly making grabby hands at something.

Kylo nearly dropped it in surprise.

"SILENCE." He growled in his best intimidating voice.

Yubbie yub-yubbed louder.

Kylo held the thing at arm's length and shook it up and down. It wasn't getting any quieter.

People were staring, and quite clearly judging. He quickly turned Yubbie the right way up and gave it another little shake.

"What _is_ it?" He hissed, nose to hairy snout with the little creature.

"Yub-yub!" It pointed over his shoulder, eyes big and pleading.

There was a toy stall there, overflowing with rather sub-par dolls. They were of pitifully cheap make, rags and rough cords, except one crafted of delicate cloth-of-gold that was possibly meant to resemble a protocol-writer from Droidia. The ornaments vaguely resembled what Tripio wore, at least.

"Yub!" And of course _that_ was the one Yubbie was watching adoringly as if it was the personified deity of its people.

"NO." Kylo said very sternly, turning back to the maternity dress. Perhaps with a sash of sorts?

"Yub-yub-yub-YUB!" It was being most insistent, wriggling out of Kylo's arms and scuttling right over to the toymaker's stall. He cursed, grabbed his food parcels, and ran after it. Maz would skin him alive if he lost the little beast.

The trader was a rather fat man in a blue toydarian robe, with coarse stubble covering a multitude of chins, and uneven teeth that poked out of his underbite when he pulled his lips back to sneer. The sign above his head read 'Watto's Whacky Wares'.

"You wantin' somethin'?" 'Watto' asked with a heavy, rumbling accent and one raised brow.

"YUB!" The baby ewok hugged Kylo's leg, gazing up at him with an expression that somehow managed to simultaneously convey "pleeeeeaaaase" and "buy it or I'll headbutt your kneecaps into mush".

Damn Kylo's soft spot for people who knew _exactly_ what they wanted and weren't shy about threatening others over it.

 

"How much for that one?" He grumbled reluctantly.

"The gold one? Masterpiece, that is. Invaluable." Watto added a few phrases in toydarian and expressive hand gestures. "You'll not find another like it. Twenty silver dataries."

Kylo scowled darkly. He didn't even have to fake it for intimidation purposes. "Can I pay later?"

Watto snorted and spat on the floor. "Credit's no good at my stall, boy."

Mind spell it was. "Credits will be fine." Kylo intoned carefully, subtly waving his hand.

"Tell that to my gamblin' debts!" The trader didn't seem... particularly mind-spell-ed. "Cash or nothin'. Ol' Grampa Watto lost the junkshop over business jus' like this, I ain't takin' chances."

Kylo's purse only held ten silver coins and a handful coppers. He'd have to haggle.

"Five." He said coolly. He could do this, he was tough and intimidating and awesome, he could get a stupid trader to sell him a stupid doll for a stupid ewok kid.

Watto's eyebrow rose once more.

"Eighteen."

"No more than six."

"Fifteen, or I make no profit."

"Then you won't make any. Seven."

"Thirteen, no lower."

"Nine, last offer!"

Watto crossed his arms.

"Thirteen." He repeated stonily.

"Nooooo!" Kylo whined. "You're supposed to say ten, and I'd agree! That's how this works!"

No change in expression.

"I only _have_ this much!" Kylo said desperately, spilling his pouch out on the stall's counter. At his feet, Yubbie whimpered sadly, and pressed its forehead to Kylo's knee in silent warning.

"Hmm." The trader sifted through the coins. "I'll sell it to you for ten, if..." He smirked broadly, crooked teeth on full display. "...you throw in your boots."

Maz wouldn't really mind if he killed this one, would she?  _WOULD SHE!?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally as-good-as-done with that bloody scarf, have another chapter!  
> Including a sketch ("Furious Peasant With Baby Ewok", graphite on paper, 2018 AD), even. Aren't I nice.


	8. In Which A Rentrum Is Had

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and in which Kylo is thought of as a punk witch.

Kylo slumped down on a bench halfway between the marketplace and the tavern, kicking off the too-small wodden sandals that were all the footwear he could afford with a handful of coppers, glaring at the baby ewok blissfully chewing on its new doll.

"I have blisters." He growled. "And it's all. Your. Fault."

Kylo couldn't realistically plan to eviscerate something so cute and cuddly, but he was having a valiant go at it nonetheless.

"Yub yub." It retorted placidly, with the air of someone comfortingly assuring a child that it  _was too_  doing a good job at using the potty.

Singularly degrading, really.

"I hope you get bald and die sad and lonely and REAL cold 'cuz you have no fur anymore!" Kylo screeched into Yubbie's adorable fluffy face, which didn't seem fazed at all.

So unfazed, in fact, that it simply whacked Kylo in the face with the slobbered-over doll.

Kylo swelled with fury, ewok drool evaporating in clouds of steam as his face began heating up, ready to launch into the kind of tantrum that was all the way up there with the best of 'em...

A passersby giggled.

 

We would like to warn the esteemed reader at this point that, however amusing our cherished protagonist's temper may be to them, they would be ill advised to vocalise this amusement in any way. Our darling non-hero in the buildup to a rage-fuelled tantrum is best compared with a loaded cannon strapped to a weathervane - it is certain to blow someone's face off at some point in the near future, but which direction the barrel will point in when it does is... fickle, to say the least.

So, to prevent the esteemed reader ever finding themselves on the receiving end of a Kylo-Ren-temper-tantrum - what we in the business commonly refer to as a "Rentrum" - we propose they insert themselves into the next unfortunate's mind, and take the secondhand experiencing of his situation as a dire warning.

The empathising will come particularly easy to that esteemed reader who is male, slightly overweight, a low-tier soldier of Coruscastle's 501st Storm Guard and longtime holder of the opinion that, rumours or no, Prince Ren was a bit of a punk witch and could not weigh more than 30 pounds soaking wet underneath that little black robe of his which rather reminded them of their wife's maternity dress with a sash added.

(However, if the esteemed reader happens to be such things as female, thin as a rake, or the Queen of England and under the impression that the persons so opinionated deserved being thrown into any nearby dispensers of soda bottles at the very least, then our most profound apologies ma'am, but please bear with us nonetheless. Public awareness is a main goal of the Rentrum prevention efforts and vital to minimising the regrettably still staggering victim count.)

 

The esteemed reader should imagine then, if they will, being Tim and eating Tim's lovingly packaged lunch on Tim's way to Tim's evening guarding shift at Tim's post at the South Gate -  _not_  Tim's, property of the Crown - and coming upon a peasant bearing a remarkable resemblance to Prince Ren, in absolutely laughable attire from the sandaled soles of his feet to the bespectacled bulge of his brow, being slapped in the face with a soggy doll by a tiny ewok child.

The esteemed reader will no doubt be tempted to emit at the very least a low chuckle.

This is to be fiercely discouraged.

To see why, the esteemed reader need only read on what happened to Tim, who, for his part, happened to give in to temptation and giggle.

Foolishly so.

 

Kylo went very, very quiet, setting the baby ewok down on the bench.

Then he whirled around in a movement that the lack of cloak made woefully inadequate, letting all his anger boil to the surface to make his face a single  _crater_  of unbridled fury.

Tim the Storm Guard dropped his lunch bag.

Kylo reached out into the Dark, feeling the servile demons gather at his fingertips and then cast them through the air at his foe.

Tim's hands flew up to his throat instantly, trying to pry the demons off his quickly-closing windpipe, and his pitiful attempts pleased Kylo.

"Oh no." He said,  _very_  darkly. "You shouldn't have chuckled while eating. Now you're choking. On some food."

"Whoops," Kylo added sinisterly, as an afterthought.

Tim's eyes were bulging in a rather disgusting way, and his skin was acquiring a bluish tinge that was not naturally found in non-Twi'lek humanoids.

 _Now,_  Kylo thought.

_Now I'll have the demons snap his neck, and make sure he never laughs at me EVER AGAIN!_

"Yub!" Yubbie exclaimed behind him, excitedly clapping its paws.

And Kylo faltered.

 

Killing the guy in front of the baby would traumatise it.

Traumatising the baby would make Maz angry.

Being angry would make Maz rat him out to Mother.

Knowing about... well,  _everything,_  would make Mother FURIOUS.

Being FURIOUS would make Mother drag him back to the castle by his ears.

Being at the castle would mean...

Never, uh, 'being with' Hux again.

...oh,  _pfaskdamnit._

 

"So..." Kylo desperately tried to think up an epic punchline, a dire warning, something cool and awesome, to negate the lameness of not getting to kill him.

"...there."

Nailed it.

With a forceful command, the Dark demons released Tim, pushing him back right into the water pump the next alley over.

His weak, flabby body crumpled into an ungraceful heap, and that was as satisfying to see as anything non-lethal could be.

"Yub-yub!" Yubbie yubbed.

Kylo grumbled something terribly rude in response, and slipped back into the wooden sandals, ready to continue the agonising walk back to the tavern...

...when it occurred to him that Storm Guard uniforms came with extremely comfortable one-size-fits-all-or-at-least-most boots.

 

They didn't  _fit,_  exactly. His heel was distinctly pinched, and Kylo was sure he could actually feel some of his toes being melded into each other, but the seams were holding up and despite the snugness, the boots were still strangely comfortable. The Storm Guard shoemaker was famed throughout the land for a reason, clearly.

Kylo did a few experimental steps, tried a little stalk. Yes, much better. Sandals were simply suboptimal for stalking purposes.

He then proceeded to stalk back to the main road, which was quite a way, the Dark demons had an impressive throwing arm.

(Tim was left behind unconscious at the water pump, with a ring of bruises around his neck and ill-fitting sandals squeezed onto his feet, a grim warning to all - and the esteemed reader especially - to NEVER laugh at Prince Kylo Ren, as well as uncanny lookalikes, just to be safe.)

Only, when he came within seeing distance of his shopping and Yubbie, he found that someone was already there.

 

Quickly, Kylo melted into the sinister shadows that would conceal him - hid behind the corner, in layman's terms - and trained his Dark sight onto the potential thief - peered at them through his glasses.

Another ewok, this one an adult, was basically having a fit over the annoying little teddy bear, picking it up and codling it, yub-yubing so loudly Kylo could actually hear them from basically the next street over. And they seemed to.. yup, the adult ewok was most definitely taking Yubbie with them, golden doll and all.

Should Kylo... maybe... he could take on a glorified stuffed toy, surely.

But... preventing a kidnapping. That sounded suspiciously like a  _Hero_  thing to do. Kylo didn't really go in for those when he could help it.

And, you know, that other ewok looked a lot like the Endorian ambassador, now that Kylo thought about it. Magical Force forbid he was able to tell the furballs apart, but the robes seemed vaguely familiar.

If the embassy took Yubbie in, it would surely find its way back to its family. 

(Ewoks all knew each other, anyway, because of that secret agenda Hux swore they had. Just like the wookies. And the gungans. And the Jedian Knights.

Hux believed in lots of secret agendas.)

And, more importantly, even if he was only half certain of the ambassador thing, it would give him the ability to assure Maz that Yubbie was safely with family, without her getting all up in his face and proclaiming that she knew his eyes, and they were those of a man with his pants on fire.

While waiting for them to pass well out of eyesight so he might retrieve his shopping, Kylo allowed himself to mourn the fact that stupid Yubbie couldn't have been kidnapped  _before_  making him buy that stupid overpriced doll.

 

Maz immediately made missed-persons posters and had Kylo spent the rest of his day handing them out. Even when it began raining, she wouldn't let him back in until he'd distributed all of them.

With that motivation added, he quickly got rid of the entire stack...

...on the closest manure pile.

That annoying little furball could  _burn in kidnapped hell_  for all he cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _wanted_ to publish this newest chapter on Halloween... and clearly failed spectacularly.  
>  Be warned, this is as far as I had the story written out in advance, so updates might become EVEN MORE sporadic... no worries though, I won't ever abandon this, just, uh, giving you lovely people a fair warning.


End file.
